


Visitng Hours

by Merkwerkee



Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Fluff, Hospital, s4 e13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: After the epic showdown with Kronos, Butch Baker goes to visit one of his few remaining friends in the hospital





	Visitng Hours

_The only sounds in the room are the low beeps and whirs of the machines, and the slow, steady breathing of the man on the bed._

As Butch pushed his way into the hospital room, some of the beeping machines picked up their pace slightly but otherwise very little changed. The man on the bed, bandages wrapped around nearly every visible inch of skin and hooked into what seemed like miles of wires and tubes, looked over at him with the only eye not obscured by gauze - though even that one was still a little milky.

By all rights, the man in the bed should be dead. Butch had seen him take a hell of a beating a number of times, mostly when Butch himself had been Kid Titan, and he’d always been okay by the end of the week. No matter what had happened, by the end of the week he was always ready to ruffle Butch’s hair and take Butch to the ice cream shop and argue with Bob Baker about the morality of allowing children to fight in the never-ending struggle.

But this had been a fucking atomic bomb.

Butch had stopped it, as much as he could, but they’d still lost a lot of people.

A _lot_ of people.

Too many.

The hazy blue eye of Iconoclast blinked at him from across the room and a questioning huff of breath emerged from under the bandages. Butch smiled awkwardly as he stepped further into the room, letting the door close behind him as he held out a bouquet of flowers that The Gardener had assured him would be most appreciated. Butch couldn’t name half the flowers or plants in the thing, and it looked a little awkward, but Blue’s - Iconoclast’s - eye crinkled at the corner with a smile hidden by bandages and a clumsy hand weakly directed him to put the whole thing on the table nearest the bed.

There were other tables around the room with arrangements on them, though not as many as there might have been. While Blue was a good guy, a friend and inspiration to many, those _many_ had answered Butch’s call, had followed him into battle to save the entire planet.

 _Many_ hadn’t been as lucky as the two of them.

Butch shook his head, banishing the thought as he grabbed one of the empty vases some enterprising soul had lined up in an out-of-the-way corner of the room. Putting some water in it was the work of a moment, and then he plopped the whole kit and kaboodle on the end table Blue’d pointed him to. The other bouquets were just as variable as the one Butch had brought; Iconoclast was one of the few who bothered to remember the meaning of flowers and The Gardener knew it, and tailored every bouquet sent to the older hero accordingly.

“So, Blue,” Butch started, then stopped.

What could he say? Kronos was dead, and it had taken nearly all they had to kill him. Abbi was the Titan now, fully and completely in a way he himself had never been. Funerals and memorials for those lost had been going on for nearly the whole week, and Butch had only just managed to get away from the ceremonies. Too many people were dead, and reconstruction was only beginning.

What actually came out of his mouth was -

“I’m going to ask Abbi to marry me,” he said in a rush.

The single eye blinked, and then crinkled again. Painkillers didn’t have that much effect on Blue - his metabolism was too fast to let the drugs dull his nerves - so he had learned early on to deal with a fair amount of pain. At least, that’s what he’d always told Butch and he did seem remarkably coherent for someone who looked like a mummy.

Butch wasn’t family - not by blood, anyway - but Blue had signed release forms decades ago to let the doctors tell Butch what was really going on. Granted, at the time it had been because an eleven-year-old boy had been having a mild panic attack over the adult superhero who had stepped between him and an oncoming energy blast, but they remained valid. Blue had never rescinded them, not even after everything Butch had done with the resignation and the book deal.

What the doctors had told him just before he entered the room was that Blue would live, but he would likely be in a great deal of pain for the foreseeable future. The bandages were there to take the place of the skin that was always last to regenerate, covering bare muscles and bones and organs and other things that should not see the light of day, ever.

But he’d live, and he was lucid even if he couldn’t respond very well, and he’d heard and understood every word Butch’d just said.

Blue held out a bandaged hand, and Butch took it with only a little trepidation. For all the doctors said about Blue’s overall condition, there wasn’t any hesitation in the squeeze the older hero gave him, even as Butch was pretty sure he could feel more bone than meat under the bandages. The single eye had crinkled so far as to be nearly closed, and the beeping on the machines had picked up substantially. Blue’s vocal cords hadn’t grown back yet, or Butch suspected he would have been congratulating him verbally.

It was only when Blue paused and huffed interrogatively that Butch remembered how he could get and squeezed the hand he held a little more firmly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. She’s Titan now, not sure if anyone told you, and she’s.”

He paused.

“Really good. Maybe the best person I know here.”

Another huff, a weak shake of his held hand.

“You’d like her, Blue, even if she did used to be a supervillain. She’s got empathy powers, but she’s strong enough to be herself and to want to help others, and…”

Butch trailed off as he saw Blue’s eyelids visibly drooping, the hand in his slackening slowly in its grip, the machines slowing in their beeping, and gently set Blue’s hand on his chest. The eye made a valid attempt to stay open, and a put-out huff sounded from under the bandages, but Butch had to shake his head.

“I’ll tell you more when you’re better, Blue. I’ll bring her around when you can speak again and have a real talk. Sound good?”

But Iconoclast had already lost his battle with his current nemesis - sleep - and Butch settled for slipping quietly out of the room, the warm glow of the older hero’s approval sitting in his chest.


End file.
